Out Of My Mind, Back In Fifteen Minutes
by Judge-Douglas-Mason
Summary: BS...Look who's CRAZY!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Wish they were, but they're not. Que Sera Sera.  
- 

Out Of My Mind, Back In Fifteen Minutes -

As the pendulum swings, so do the days of my life. Some days go by faster than others, while some just fly past me with the speed of a Roadrunner/Wyle-E-Coyote cartoon. At present, I'm sitting in a therapist's waiting room across from some guy that's holding a conversation with what appears to be a hand puppet. I can't tell if its a raccoon or a ferret. I guess some are in more need of professional psychotherapy than others. Me, I'm here as part of the department's yearly mental stability examination. We all have to go through it at least during a twelve month period. I'm less than enthusiastic about bearing my soul to a supposed psychological professional that collects Beanie Babies and has them lined up on his office walls, each incased in some sort of plastic box. The tags even have those little plastic covers on them to prevent bending and dog-earing. I mean, what sort of middle aged man collects furry little stuffed animals like crabs, giraffes and pelicans? For a small child, this would be more appropriate, but hey, I guess we all have our quirks.

The office door opens and I see him, Dr. Data. Did I forget to mention that he's also a Trekkie? The only magazines in his waiting room are of a science fiction nature, and as I close and set down the issue of Star Log that I was reading, he gestures for me to join him. Looking over at the puppet talker, I sincerely hope that he's getting his money's worth. Dr. Data closes the door behind us and I take my place on the Lay-Z-Boy in the corner of his office. He's got his legal pad and as he clicks his pen, ready to write, I await the end of his pre session ritual.  
He always clicks his pen 4 times and when he sits in his chair, he cracks his knuckles and then his ankles, followed by his neck. Its a wonder that this guy isn't in need of some 3-in-one oil.

Pulling out the foot rest and making myself comfortable, I take a deep breath and begin.

"So, let's see what we've got here. In the last year, I've been shot at no less than fifteen times, attacked or almost attacked about a dozen times and I keep having these really weird dreams that involve a colleague of mine. Oh, and I dress up as a bear on the weekends and dive into fur piles with other bipedal creatures that are also dressed up as animals. There, that should be enough fodder for two hours." I state

Immediately following this last statement, he drops his pen and just stares at me for a few moments. He shakes his head several times and reaches down to retrieve his writing implement.

"Where would you like to start, Captain Brass?"

As I take a long look at him, I notice that Dr. Data has lost some weight since our last meeting; about a good 30lbs, at least. His face is thinner as well as his gut and he's trying out some sort of stubble/scruff thing that's not quite working out. Oddly enough, he's also wearing the same exact outfit he was wearing last time. Come to think of it, he's always wearing the same thing; khakis, a black button down shirt and these ungodly looking knockoff Italian loafers. I know they're knockoffs because, I'm sorry, no self respecting cobbler would make forest green loafers.

Returning my attention to the question at hand, I decide to get the most pressing issue out of the way first. Being shot at, I can deal with. Its all part of the job, as is being assaulted, but these dreams have got to stop. I've bought books about dream analysis and other psyche related, unconscious maladies.

"Ok, well. They usually start off innocent enough and then quickly turn into these bothersome visions of floating heads and marzipan King Fishers. How do you suppose to interpret that?"

I can see that I've got him stumped, which is a small victory in and of itself. I love this guy. When he gets flustered, his left eye twitches and he starts plucking his eyebrow, although I'm not entirely sure he's aware of it. Right now, half of his brow is gone and he's working on the other one. Score one point for Jimmy and zero for Dr. Data. After a few silent moments, he sits up in his chair and has apparently had an epiphany of some sort. He cracks his ankles again and sighs.

"Well, the floating could be interpreted as some sort of sexual repression. Tell me, do you find this woman attractive? I mean, this colleague is female, right?" he asks

"Yeah, she's a she. As to your wondering if she's attractive; I would have to give an affirmative on that one. She's about yea-high" I say, gesturing height relative to the floor "and maybe around a hundred or so pounds with long brown hair and some of the darkest eyes I've ever seen. She's stunning, really."

"And how long have you known her"  
"I'd say around four years, give or take." I reply

"What's your professional relationship? Do you and she get along or is there animosity"  
"We get on fine. Actually we get on very well. We joke and have meaningful discussions. Sometimes we share meals and a couple of times she's spent the night over at my place, although nothing's ever happened. Truth be told, I think she thinks of me more like a close friend and confidant than as a potential lover. For me, I think that's where most of the stress lies" I explained

I watch as he begins to chew on the end of his pen. Funny, he's never done that before. Something I said must have gotten to him. He appears to be deep in thought. As he flips through the pages of his legal pad, he settles on a page about halfway through. His lips move as he reads to himself and when he looks up, he's got a twinkle in his eye.

"Without breaching any confidences, I think I can help you out, Detective. You see, I heard a similar story the other day and I'm going to give you the same advice that I gave this other person. First, you want to observe this person. You know, when you sit down next to her, try to notice if she shifts when you approach. Look at what she does with her hands. Does she lay them flat in her lap or on the table top or does she fiddle with something? Note her facial expression. Her eyes, does she look away or does she give you her undivided attention? Her speech patterns. Does she speak clearly and distinctly or does she stammer and say "Um" a lot? Take notice of as much as you can without staring at her. Staring tends to make some people uncomfortable." he explained

"Ok, so while I'm ogling this lady, what should I do if she maces me? I mean, if someone did to me all of what you just told me to do to her, I'd be trying to remember where my capsicum foam was." I asked

To that, he had no answer at the ready. He chewed on his pen some more as I fished through my pockets for some gum. Peeling the wrapper from the chewy treat, I offer some to the good doctor.

"Want some? It's Hubba Bubba"  
"No, thank you."

Again, with the pen chewing. Finally he speaks up.

"How do you feel when she's around? Do you perspire or have difficulty forming coherent sentences? Do you get tunnel vision or start to panic.?"

"Well, sometimes when I see her at a scene or at the lab, I hear this tune in my head, that out of context is just a tune, but when she's around it's louder." I offer

"And what tune is that?" he asks "The Emperor's theme from Return of the Jedi. You know, when he walks down the gangway with Darth Vader and you hear that low sort of "dun-dun-dun-dun,dun,dun,dun,dun,dun-dun-dun-dun,dun, dun,dun,dun-dun-dun." You know the one?" I say, gesturing high and low notes with my hands

I know I can't sing, so I don't even bother trying, but as I see the look on this guy's face, it looks as if he's having some sort of pre-frontal cortical embolism; his eyes are crossed and his tongue is peeking out of his mouth, but only slightly. Almost the way a child will do when they're concentrating really hard on something. He looks like he's in some sort of pain, and for a moment, I feel kind of sorry for the guy, but the sadist in me is giggling maniacally. Laughing my ass off internally, I offer him some more gum.

"You sure you don't want some Hubba-Bubba? It's grape."

He makes no verbal response to my offer, but just blinks his eyes several times almost like he's trying to banish some thought from his mind. While he searches his mind for a response, I blow a few bubbles. You know, to pass the time.

"Moving on, tell me about your...um...dressing up on the weekends." he says, changing the topic

"Oh, well, that's simple enough. For 48 hours, I indulge my animal side and interact with others that have a compulsion for impersonating furry little creatures. There's a zebra, a bright blue cat, a fox and scads of others. At present, I have a skritching partner that's a polar bear, while I'm a grizzly bear. Neither of us knows what the other looks like and I think that its the anonymity of it all that appeals to me. You know, we all meet and pet and groom each other. Its all really very fascinating." I explained

"And its when you're dressed as a bear that you feel the freedom to bear yourself, as it were" he asks cautiously

"That's exactly it. See, when its just me in my bear suit, I can express the parts of my psyche that I suppress when I'm out in the big, bad world. No one knows its me, Captain Brass. To them, I'm just good old Berry Bear."

"And why the name Berry?" he queried

"Oh, well, I thought I'd pay homage to my berries. You know, my brass...um, well...you know, right?"

Again, with the blinking. I think, maybe, that when I'm done here, he's gonna need to take a few sessions himself. I knew that by telling him this he'd think me a bit off, but if the current look on his face is any indication, I've given him a bit more than he can digest. Right now, he's just staring at me blankly and I notice that our time is almost up. I retract the Lay-Z-Boy foot rest and lean forward a bit, snapping my fingers to get his attention.

"Hey, Doc. So, what do I do"  
"About what?" he asks "You know, about the dreams." I reply "Oh, those. Well,...Um"  
"So, should I ogle this woman and hope to God that she doesn't mace me"  
"Oh, yes, that. Well, just use your best judgment." he says, looking down at his watch "And it would seem as though our session has ended. I wish you luck, Captain."

"Thanks, Doc."

I climb out of the chair and just as I reach out for the door knob, he calls to me. Turning round' , I grin.

"If she makes any sudden movements, like to rifle through her purse or grabs her keys and swings, I suggest you duck."

"Thanks, Doc."

Stepping out into the waiting room, the puppet talker is still there. He's got an odd look on his face and as I open the door to leave the room, he growls.


	2. CH 2

Jim's mental diversionary tactics courtesy of "Man and Superman" by Bernard Shaw and "A Tale of Two Cities" by Charles Dickens

Sometimes I wonder what people are thinking, or if they are at all. I mean the second the first drop of rain hits the pavement people start driving like maniacs and idiots. I think, maybe, there should be a yearly competency exam for drivers past a certain age. This lady in front of me is so small that I can't even see her head. She's probably looking right through the steering wheel. Agh, let me get around her. Yeah, I was right, she's a tiny one. Maybe she's an elf orpossibly even a sprite. One thing's for sure, the way she's hugging the wheel like that, if she gets into an accident, she's toast.

Its raining harder now, but I've got things that I need to do before my double date with Sara tonight. She fixed a friend of hers up on a date with another friend, but the girl said she wouldn't go out unless Sara went with. I've got my best come hither suit dry cleaned along with the accompanying shirt; all I need to do is double check everything and I'll be "Good to go and ready to launch", as the G Man says.

Truth be told, I'm a bit nervous. I mean, I've had countless meals with Sara, but this is different, in that its more structured than our group meals. Here, tonight, we're playing chaperone and I wonder if this is such a wise idea. I like Sara, maybe more than I should, but...,Agh, hell. Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Ok, I've got my keys, wallet, baby Glock and ,condoms and breath mints. I've even gone so far as to release some "tension" so my mind and body don't clash tonight. Am I forgetting anything? Hey, I can dream, can't I? I look F-I-N-E, fine, if I do say so myself; and I do. My tie is on straight and my shoes are polished to the highest shine; I'm ready to go. The only thing I need do is stop by the florist and then I'll pick Sara up.

Surprisingly, Sara only lives a couple of blocks from me; I just never thought of it before. All the nights and mornings I've spent wondering what she was doing, if she was alone or if she needed someone, and she was there all along. Some detective I am, huh? Her apartment building is nice enough and as I walk the stone path to her landing I check my breath and smooth down my hair; what hair I've got, that is. My hand trembles a bit as I raise my balled up fist to knock on the door, but almost as though she knew I was there, the door opens before I make contact with it. Uh-oh, brain fart.

Jim looks amazing in his dark blue suit and blue and silver striped tie. I've always thought that he looked best in blue. Kind of gives all new meaning to "boy in blue", huh? The last time I saw him in this particular suit was during the Kleinfeld case. He and Grissom were in the break room sharing coffee over some brainstorming session. I stood just outside the door out of sight and listened to Jim as he talked about the vigilantes knocking off the black-jack dealers. He and Grissom had clashed earlier that day and truth be told, I thought that maybe Grissom had finally grown some balls,  
but I was wrong.

But tonight isn't about Grissom, its about Jeneane, Stuart, Jim and myself. I know everyone thinks I've got a thing for Grissom, and in a way I guess I do, but not for the reasons everyone thinks. I am attracted to him, but not as a lover anymore; more like a friend. He's got an amazing brain, some really interesting quirks and he's like some great Earth-locked cosmic vending machine; a quote or analogy for just about anything. However, if I were to be honest with myself, as I'm trying to do more of lately, I'd have to admit that I'm interested in Jim, and not just as a friend.

The way he's standing there right now, all wide eyed and mouth gaping., he looks like some freshman on his very first date without a parental chaperone. He's sweating a bit and maybe I'll have some fun with him, or more likely at his expense. Looking down at the hem of my dress, I remember Pretty Woman.

"Aww, man. I've got a runner in my pantyhose." I say slowly lifting the hem well above my knee, exposing a whole lotta thigh "Oh, I'm not wearing any pantyhose"

She's teasing me, the she devil. Ooh, naughty thoughts...very naughty thoughts. Take your mind off it Jim. Don't let her get to you. Think of something else..."Roebuck Ramsden is in his study, opening the morning's letters. The study, handsomely and solidly furnished, proclaims the man of means. Not a speck of dust is visible: it is clear that there are at least two housemaids and a parlourmaid downstairs and a housekeeper upstairs who does not let them spare elbow grease. Even the top of Roebuck's head is polished: on a sunshiny day he could heliograph his orders to distant camps by merely nodding"

Ok, he's gone cross-eyed now and if I didn't know any better I'd say he was thinking of something else entirely other than my gown. Looks like I might have my work cut out for me tonight, but given his reaction right now, I'd say that he's far from oblivious to who and what he'll be spending the evening with. Grabbing my keys from the small table by the door, I hold out my hand to him.

"In no other respect, however, does he suggest a military man. It is in active civil life that men get his broad air of importance , his dignified expectation of deference, his determined mouth disarmed and refined since the hour of his success by the withdrawal of opposition and the concession of comfort and precedence and power"

"Hello? Anyone home?" I ask

He blinks several times and as his eyes move over my body I can hear him mumbling something about a respectable man, an alderman and a mayor. He's remembering books again. This isn't the first time I've seen him do this. He seems to do it only when he's confronted with something mind bogglingly uncomfortable to grasp. He did it when he watched that lady from Heather's Domain walk down the hall and out the door down the hall, he did it when he walked in on me in the shower at the lab, he did it when I asked for a towel and he handed me a paper towel instead and he's doing it now. He's so damn cute when he's sexually frustrated.

"Helloooooooooooooooo?" I say again

"Huh, what?"

Oh, God, I've gone and done it again. I'm seeing flashes of Sara in the lab shower in all her naked glory, I'm seeing her asking for a towel and almost as though I've stepped outside myself, I see myself handing her the first think I set fingers on...far too small. Keep your head, Jim. She's only Sara, you work with her everyday, you see her everyday, you share coffee and dinner with her frequently. She's only a woman...a perfect woman with soft skin, long shiny hair, big brown eyes, luscious lips that beg to be kissed and breasts that stand up proud and...Oh, God. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of incredulity it was the season of Light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of disrepair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of it's noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil in the superlative degree of comparison only"

Ok, this is cute and all, but its really time to go.  
(reaches out her hand and gives a love pat to his face)  
"Come on, Jim. Lets go"

"Huh, what?"

Thank God for that slap. Had it not been for that I might have very well spent the next half hour ogling her. She's so beautiful. Who would have thought that the very same Sara Sidle that I see at work nearly everyday in jeans and cotton tops would clean up so well. By the looks of it her gown is made of silk and the way it hugs her curves is pure eye candy. I suddenly remember that I've got a rose for her. Trying to make my thoughts register physically, I'm having trouble presenting her with said flower. Finally, after a few long seconds, my hand responds, but not how I would have liked.  
Almost like another out of body experience, I see my hand come into view and virtually hurl the rose at her as if it were some dart in a pub. I see the look on her face and I can only imagine what I must look like right at this moment. I know I'm sweating, I know I'm breathing hard and I know that I'm making a fool of myself. I manage a few words.

"Um...yeah...let's rock."

Ok, maybe not the swiftest thing to say, considering that my pre-date tension relief is proving very ineffective. I'm ready to rock alright.

He's just so cute. I lean in and gently place a kiss on his cheek, to which he just stands stock still and I wonder if he's gonna start reciting books again. Thinking to myself, I wonder if it would be such a great idea for him to be behind the wheel of a large vehicle given his current state.

"I'll drive, but not my car."

No response

"Jim, your keys?"

I can see that I'm going to have myhands fulltonight, so hazarding a glance at his pockets, I see the protrusion created by his keys in his right pocket. Ok, all I've got to do is just reach in and pull them out; sounds simple enough. I step a bit closer and with my left hand I reach in and gently take two fingers...those aren't his keys. Oh, my God. I just assumed a large protrusion in his pocket, it must be his keys...boy, was I wrong. Looking up into his eyes, he gives a lopsided smile and lets out a nervous cough.

"My, what a big..."

Why is her hand in my pocket? And that most certainly isn't my key fob. Ok, Jim. Think on your feet. Just reach into your left pocket and pull out your keys. Mission accomplished. Keys delivered. I try not to make any sort of eye contact with her as I drop the keys into her waiting hand...there's only one hand...the other one is still in my pocket. Why? Shit, like I have to ask. This night is proving more frustrating that I had anticipated.


	3. Chapter 3

I suppose I never gave much thought to what Sara looked like when she was eating. Its such a simple task; take the fork, scoop something up, put the business end in your mouth, close your lips and slide it out...like breathing, simple and requiring no thought or skill whatsoever. I've seen her do it a thousand times...ok, I'm exaggerating, but you get my point. However, right now baked eggplant never looked so good. Me, I'm a meat and potatoes kind o f man so I just ordered a New York strip with seasoned spuds and what looks like asparagus, but its white and kind of on the scary side, but I see Sara eyeing it, so I tilt my plate and slide it off onto hers...share and share alike, I always say. 

Her friends, also on the kind of scary side, seem to be getting on well enough. Truth be told, they look almost as if they were separated at birth...one looks like a Canadian goose and the other like a Mallard duck...cousins, maybe. He's tall with milky white skin, silver hair, zero blemishes and a rather large nose, contrasted only by his equally large teeth...like a gopher or guinea pig. Her, by the same token, has fowl features... Her eyes small and beady, her nose long and pointed and her ears...well, a taxi cab driving down the street with the doors open comes to mind. But, hey, I'm no prize myself. I could be taller, could have more hair and could be smarter, I suppose. That's how we come to Sara; perfect in every sense of the word.

After supper, the bird people suggest a little bit of dancing...Eguch!...anything but dancing. Give me film noir,  
give me the greased plates at the midway, give me the Elvis-A-Rama Museum, but by no means even suggest anything even remotely close to dancing. It's a well kept secret, between myself and myself, that I am not a dancer...I'm not even a shuffler. I just kind of stand there, shifting my weight from one foot to the other and only if I'm really feeling adventurous, I might hazard a butt squeeze...my partner's, not mine. Though it has been brought to my attention that I touch my butt a lot...usually a quick swipe, like a dusting, if you will. I was oblivious to this fact until it was brought to my attention...now, every time I move my hand, I have to tell myself. "not your butt...leave your butt alone, quit messing with your ass."

So we find ourselves at Club C2K over at the Venetian. The lights are everywhere, the speakers have got to be breaking noise ordinances and the crowd...well, let's say that I'm old enough to be father to over half the people in here, though I wouldn't mind hearing "Who's your Daddy" from some of the ladies. (J) However, as Sara's friends get onto the floor, I see her by the bar with two drinks in hand.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Jim is awfully quiet tonight, especially after the "key fob" incident. I swear, I thought it was his keys, I swear.  
But right now, that's neither here nor there. He's devilishly handsome in that suit and his boyish charm is the icing on the proverbial cake...standing off the floor with his hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back and forth from heel to toe. If I didn't know any better I'd think he was nervous. No, not :"Brass Nuts" Brass. He's seen dead bodies, mutilated corpses and other horrific sights, so why is it that tonight he seems to feel out of place...maybe he needs some education from the Sara Sidle School of Rockin' On With Your Bad Self.

Oooh, the music is perfect...Groove is in the Heart. I hand him one of the beers and take him by the wrist, like a child, as if. I know he's reluctant, I know he can't dance...I've seen proof of it. One time, in his office, I heard "I'm Every Woman" playing on his little boom box and taking a peek through the not quite drawn blinds, I saw him shaking his ass and trying to sing along...Bless his heart, he was trying so hard, but in the end, he just looked like he was having some sort of epileptic fit coupled with an acute case of tone deafness. He was so cute,  
I didn't have the heart to tell him he had neither rhythm nor carry. Then there was his rousing rendition of "I Feel Pretty" that nearly made me wet my pants.

All that aside, tonight I consider it my mission in life to see to it that he has a good time. So, again, beer in hand, we begin. His free hand in mine, I demonstrate as he watches me intently. A few quick steps, some pelvic thrusts and a nice bootie shake for good measure, I release him and watch him do his thing, so to speak.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Her full body sneeze aside, which is what it looks like she's doing, Sara isn't such a bad dancer...heh, look who's judging dancers, now. She's got some nice moves, so to speak. I liked that little pelvic thrust that ground into my...well, let's just leave it at that, shall we? Needless to say, her displays have not gone unnoticed by my body, which, as it seems, has grown hypersensitive as of the last ten minutes or so. Our hands joined, yeah, my palms were sweating...still are. Her eyes boring holes through my soul...still are...and her ample bosom bouncing happily out of the bodice of her dress...thank God, still are. If I were a bolder, younger man and all these people weren't around, I might think about a nice slow dance with bodies pressed against each other, feeling the other person's heartbeat against your chest and the exchanges of oxygen and the light whisps past their ear as they hum and sing along to the tune of whatever Neil Sedaka tune is being played on the upright. But this isn't the 70's and we sure as hell aren't in some smoky, dim lit piano lounge; we're at some methamphetamine paced, perverted, drug crazed nipple ranch...and boy, are the nipples nice...(bouncy, bouncy, bouncy)

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Well, all in all I'd have to say the night went fairly well. The bird people exchanged telephone numbers and once Sara and I dropped the lady off we headed back to her place for some reflection and a night cap. She asked if I wanted to stay the night, given the late hour, so as she changed out of her dress I went out to my car and grabbed my perpetually packed travel bag, within being a pair of jeans, sweats, t-shirt, underclothes and some basic toiletries. Her place is small, but adequate, in that its an open plan flat with just a bathroom, bedroom and open living area with a breakfast bar separating the rest of the flat from the kitchen.

Sitting on the couch, two fingers of Scotch straight, I listen, tune everything else out as Sara changes in the bedroom. I hear her kick off her sandals. I hear her curse as she, presumably, fiddles with the zipper and I hear her call my name. Opening my eyes and setting my drink down, I cross the floor and enter her bedroom. There's what appears to be a Queen sized bed in the centre of the room, back up against the far wall, two bed tables with lamps and some very comfy looking bedclothes...flannel, maybe. Seeing her struggle, I advance...my hands trembling, I know not why...palms sweating again, I can only imagine, and my mind wandering to very, VERY naughty places...but I'm only human, right. Slowly, I slide the zipper down and watch in stunned, drooling amazement as her gown falls to the floor in a loose heap of material that she just kicks to the side as she turns her head round' to face me and with her back still turned, gestures for me to leave the room so she might dress in privacy.

Back on the couch in the living area, and I'm admonishing the little Brass for making his appearance back in the bedroom. Thankfully, since her back was turned the whole time she was unaware of it, but as for me, I was very aware.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The look on Jim's face was priceless as I watched him staring at my bare back. His eyes slightly crossed, his tongue peeking out slightly and a look of wonderment on his features. I never really gave much thought to Jim as anything other than a friend or superior, but right now, given what he's seen of me and his behaviour tonight, I think I'd have to say that he's an incredibly decent man with some serious self restraint.

He's back on the couch right now, sipping his drink and from the looks of it, he's mighty tired. Its way past both our bedtimes and as I set beside him, I place a hand on his knee and smile. I've come to the sudden realization that I like Jim...I like Jim a lot, and if I'm not mistaken he likes me too. Yeah, he's kind of on the short side, maybe he's a bit folically challenged and maybe he's a little older than I am, but when a good man comes along, you meet, you spend time together and get to know each other, secrets and all, and they accept you anyway, you'd be kind of stupid to pass him up, no? I know he's avoiding eye contact...hell, he flinched when I set my hand on his knee...I'll be gentle with him, I promise.


End file.
